Body Rides (59 page)

The man on the lounge was Vince Conrad, all right.

Neal recognized him from a couple of dozen movies. Early in his career, Vince had played the leading man in a few films that never quite made it. He possessed the handsome features of a lead, but lacked something. Character? In spite of his rugged features and well-toned muscles, there was a simpering weakness to him that couldn’t be disguised. Unfit to be cast as the protagonist, he’d quickly found himself getting steady work as a heavy. For the past decade, he’d been the sly, sleazy villain of nearly every film in which he appeared.

He looked the part now, sprawled on his lounge by the pool wearing sunglasses and a skimpy white Spandex swimsuit, his dark skin gleaming with suntan oil, a cocktail on a tray by his side, a cordless telephone in his hand.

Time’s wasting! Go for it!

Neal plunged into the man.

Whoa! What’s going on here?

Sun-baked, sweaty, mellow, half-tanked and half-erect.

And feeling great. Way too great, Neal thought, for a guy who buried his wife yesterday.

And who’s this on the phone?

‘Just relaxing here by the pool,’ Vince explained. ‘Having meself a cold toddy.’

‘All by your lonesome?’

‘Just lonely me. Mourning the loss of my beloved spouse. Attempting to drown my sorrow.’

‘Shame, shame.’

Though Vince was well-soused, it was the woman on the phone who sounded loopy. She had a breathy drawl as if she were trying to imitate Marilyn Monroe.

Give her half a blink, she’ll start angling to come over
, Vince thought.
Not today, sweet stuff
. ‘I wish you were here, Pamela,’ he said.

‘That might be arranged.’

‘I’d
love
to have you here. You know that, don’t you? But it’s too soon. What’ll the coppers think if a sweet bit of stuff like you trots over to play?’

‘They aren’t watching your house, are they?’ She sounded appalled.

‘Might be. Might be. One never knows about such things. For that matter, they might be eavesdropping on this very conversation at this very moment.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘They might be. Coppers are a tricky lot.’ Vince grinned, amused by himself.

‘They better not be listening!’ Pamela snapped. ‘Hello? Cops? If you’re listening in on us, you oughta be ashamed – persecuting an innocent man this way. You know good and well he was all the way over in Hawaii. He couldn’t
possibly
have murdered Elise. Haven’t you ever heard of an “air-tight” alibi? Well, that’s exactly what Vince has. Air-tight. So you shouldn’t be pestering him. Why don’t you just hang up the phone right now and go and fuck yourself!’

Vince chuckled.

What a moronic twit
, he thought.
Why do I put up with her?

Vince answered his question with the mental image of a tawny woman climbing naked out of his pool, walking toward him. She had sleek black hair cut short like a pixie. She had a tan everywhere.

She looked familiar to Neal. An actress? he wondered. A model? He thought that maybe he’d seen her not long ago on Letterman.

‘How was that?’ she asked.

‘You gave them an admirable piece of your mind,’ Vince told her.
A piece you can ill afford to loose, you gorgeous nincompoop
.

‘Why should they even care if I come over?’ she asked.

‘It’ll look bad, my sweet. That’s all.’

‘I don’t care. I miss you, Vincent. I miss you so much, I can hardly stand it.’

‘I miss you, too. Every moment. But it won’t do either of us any good if you’re seen . . .’

‘I don’t care. I want to be with you. I don’t care . . .’

‘Perhaps in a few days . . .’

‘I can’t stand this! You didn’t kill her. It isn’t fair that they won’t let you live your own life.’

‘We’ll simply have to keep our passions bridled . . .’

The sound of the doorbell chimes stopped Vince’s voice. He felt a quick flutter of anxiety. ‘I have to hang up, now. Someone’s at the door. I’ll phone you later.
Au revoir
.’ Without waiting for a response, he thumbed the Power Off switch.

He swung his legs off the lounge and slipped his feet into a pair of flip-flops.

Who the fuck? Cops or reporters. Bastard fucks, why don’t they leave me alone?

He set the phone on the tray. Then he stood up.

Don’t they know I’m in mourning?

He picked up his slippery, cold glass and took a sip.

Vodka and tonic.

It tasted to Neal exactly like the drinks he’d had with Elise.

He felt a sudden ache of loss.

My ache or his? he wondered.

Must be mine.

Because Vince, walking toward the nearest glass door, seemed to be thinking of other matters.

I’m not exactly decent
. He gazed at the front of his white swimsuit.
Look at that boner. I should put something on. No telling who’ll be at the door. Homicide dicks? A crew from Hard Copy?

Chuckling, he rolled open the door and stepped into the living room. The air inside felt cool on his hot, sweaty body. The swimsuit was clinging to him like a rag of clammy skin.

Fine just the way I am. If they don’t want a peek at Vincent Conrad in his natural habitat, fuck them. What you see is what you get
.

As he slid the door shut, the chimes rang again.

What if it IS the cops?

He imagined himself opening the door . . .

And standing there, a pair of middle-aged and tired-looking L.A.P.D. homicide detectives – the heavy one with the stacked silver hair and the wiry bald one –
Van Ness and Long, that’s them
– and they stare at him with their weary see-all eyes and Van Ness says, ‘Vincent Conrad, we’re arresting you for murder. You have the right to remain silent . . .’

Feeling suddenly all shrunken and cold inside, Vince stopped in the foyer and gazed at the door.

They haven’t got anything on me. Impossible. It has to be somebody else
.

Who?

He swung open the door.

And stood there gaping out at Marta and Sue.

To Vince, they were strangers.

Strangers who were not Van Ness and Long.

Who were, instead, a couple of beautiful females in sunglasses and scanty swimsuits.

But who the fuck are they?

‘May I help you, girls?’ he asked.

The larger of the two, smiling, stuck out her hand and said, ‘I’m Tracy. You must be Vince.’

Nodding, feeling a bit confused but pleasant, Vince took hold of her hand. ‘Very nice to meet you,’ he said. Shaking her hand, he watched her breasts wobble slightly. They were tanned and shiny. Her leather top didn’t hide much. He could see down between them.

Neal felt Vince’s penis start to rise again.

Damn it! Marta’s turning him on!

She’s
supposed to
, he reminded himself.

The rotten bastard doesn’t have to LOOK at her that way
.

‘And this is my cousin . . .’ Marta said.

‘Katt,’ Sue broke in. ‘With a K. And two T’s.’

‘Katt,’ Vince repeated. Smiling, he took her offered hand. ‘Very nice to meet you, too.’ When he shook her hand, her breasts didn’t wobble.

Oh, they’re so nice and small and firm. By God, what is she, sixteen? Look at those nipples! Look at them!

Vince imagined himself lifting the black patches of the bikini top away from her breasts and taking one of her nipples between his teeth. Squeezing it between his teeth. Neal could feel it in there, long and rubbery. He could taste it.

He could also feel Vince growing even larger, pushing out against the front of his clingy damp swimsuit.

Had Marta or Sue noticed
that
?

Neal couldn’t tell; not with their eyes hidden behind the dark sunglasses.

Still holding Sue’s hand, Vince said, ‘Do I know either of you?’

‘I’m just Tracy’s cousin from Sacramento,’ Sue said.

‘Elise invited us over to swim in the pool,’ Marta said.

Holy shit, Neal thought.

Vince’s mind seemed to be reeling, stumbling about at a loss for coherence, wondering what sort of game these two gals might be trying to play, hoping they were for real –
Don’t they know she’s dead for godsake? They been on Mars?
– wanting to invite them in – ‘
Glad you stopped by! Sure, sure, you’re welcome to use the pool. I was about to go in for a dip myself
’ – but who are they REALLY?

I don’t care who they are
.

The one’s too young to be a cop, anyway
.

I want to see more of her, whoever she is. More of the other, too. Tracy and Katt
.

‘Come in,’ Vince said. ‘Please, come in.’ Still holding Sue’s hand, he stepped backward and drew her across the threshold. ‘I wasn’t expecting company.’ Marta entered. Releasing Sue’s hand, Vince closed the door. ‘But you’re certainly welcome to use the pool. May I offer you two girls a drink? I do believe the sun’s over the yardarm. How about a vodka and tonic?’

‘That’d be great,’ Sue said.

‘Sure,’ said Marta. ‘I could go for that.’

‘Right this way, girls.’ Vince wanted to walk behind them for the rear view, but figured he really needed to lead the way. So he walked in front. They followed him into the den.

It looked familiar to Neal.

Like a room from a wonderful, sad dream: here the sofa where he’d stretched out and tried the bracelet; here the place where Elise had stood when he entered her; there the bar stools; there the bar where they’d had their drinks, where later she’d taken the aspirin and Alka-Seltzer just before starting the walk back to her bedroom with Neal’s card in the pocket of her pajama shirt, stiff against her nipple . . .

And now it’s sleazy Vince behind the bar, making drinks for my women after he’s killed his own
.

Marta and Sue perched themselves on the high stools in front of him. Vince, behind the counter, stole glances at them while he made the drinks.

Perhaps someone hired them to cheer me up. A Strip-o-gram sort of deal
.

Who would do such a thing?

Bill?

Unless they ARE cops. No, no, not cops. Reporters?

Who cares? They’re fabulous stuff. Just gotta do what comes naturally
.

Toss in a good load, loosen them up
.

He dumped an extra shot of vodka into each of the three ice-filled glasses.

‘Is Elise around?’ Marta asked.

She really doesn’t know? Or is this a trick?

Better play it like a trick, just to be safe
.

Shaking his head and trying to put a sorrowful expression on his face, Vince poured tonic water into the glasses. Then he said, ‘You haven’t heard?’

‘Heard what?’ Marta asked.

Sue shrugged her fragile, tanned shoulders.

‘This last Sunday night, someone broke into the house and . . .’ Vince’s voice cracked. He brought tears into his eyes. He thought,
Excellent
.

He’s a pretty good actor, after all, Neal decided.

‘Elise is dead,’ Vince said, and lowered his head and clasped a hand across his eyes as if to hide the shame of his tears.

Maybe he’s
not
so good, Neal thought.

‘She was . . . brutally murdered.’

‘Oh, dear God,’ Marta said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Who done it?’ Sue asked.

Vince, still covering his eyes, shook his head. ‘We don’t know.’ His mind flashed a picture of Glitt’s gaunt, bearded face.

That’s it!
Neal thought.
Gotcha, you bastard! You did it! You hired him!

‘I was away on a trip at the time,’ Vince said.

‘I just can’t believe she’s dead,’ Marta muttered, very convincingly disturbed by the news. ‘I’m so sorry. This is terrible. We never would’ve come over . . .’

‘It’s quite all right.’ Vince rubbed his wet eyes, then cast a brave smile at her. ‘I’m glad you came. Both of you,’ he added, and turned his grief-stricken smile on Sue.